Bren's Guide to Irish Counties
by Bren Vaughan
- Connaught
- Galway
- Leitrim
- Mayo
- Roscommon
- Sligo
- Leinster
- Carlow
- Dublin
- Kildare
- Kilkenny
- Laois
- Longford
- Meath
- Offaly
- Westmeath
- Wexford
- Wicklow
- Munster
- Clare
- Cork
- Kerry
- Limerick
- Tipperary
- Waterford
- Ulster
Connaught
---------
Galway
Galway is a mystical county full of folklore, heritage and
fun. From the oyster festival to the rugged beauty of Connemara to the
awe-inspiring fort at Dun Aengus, Galway has a lot to stir both body
and soul. However, for the true image of Galway one has simply to visualise a student puking on a club bouncer at Salthill and the
memory of the place will never dim.
Leitrim
Leitrim is a secret place. Few go in there and those that do
seldom come out. When they do they have a slightly glazed look and
claim the place is really scenic with castles and waterfalls and the
like. Don't believe them. I've seen the same look on Moonies. Save
yourself now before it is too late. For Leitrim imagine a dark portal
with a trail of sweeties on the ground leading up to it.
Mayo
- Mayo, like most of the West of Ireland, holds some of the most
amazing scenery in the country. Amongst its rugged beauty lies the
impressive (well, in Irish terms) summit of Croagh Patrick. A
conventional image to choose for Mayo would thus be of a reverential
pilgrim slowly climbing the mountain in bare feet, retracing the
footsteps of St Patrick himself who fought demonic birds on that very
pinnacle. This is of course the lazy man's image. For a more intrepid
approach, visualise a bullock of a red-necked man squeezed into a pair
of shorts 4 sizes too small wearing a home made "I Luv Willie Joe"
t-shirt clattering into the Bishop at Confirmation because he thought
the purple robes meant he was a Galway man.
Roscommon
Roscommon is a bleak little county and can best be summed
up by the fact that one of its biggest towns is named after a pus
filled sore and one of its major rivers is called Suck. A place which
you can hardly see for the rushes, there is little of interest here to
suggest an initial image unless perhaps a satisfied angler casting
into one of its excellent fisheries. A seasoned veteran though will
imagine an image of an ageing bridesmaid at a wedding. She is wearing
a yellow jersey and knows she will never be the bride.
Sligo
Sligo is a bit like your anonymous sister that you don't talk
about and everybody knows exists but nobody has ever seen. Perhaps
most famous for its close association with the poetic genius
W.B. Yeats, a possible image for Sligo might be his pensive visage
personifying the rugged brooding beauty of the county. Failing that an
ugly bungalow in a site of natural beauty will suffice.
Leinster
--------
Carlow
What can you say about County Carlow? Who knows? Carlow is
like a sort of Gulag where problem students get sent to serve their
time until they are either allegedly educated or have given up and
joined the Guards. A famous song says "Follow me up to Carlow" which
was all well and good when the bauld Fiach McHugh was sacking the
place in the 12th century, but doesn't hold much attraction now. For
Carlow we are going to have to use a slightly smaller black hole than
Longford and take our chances.
Dublin
Dublin contains the capital city of Ireland. We will never
forgive it for that. It's sort of like Sarajevo but shabbier and with
more tribal rivalry. A journey into Dubin is a journey into the dark
heart of Irish urbanity where life is fast and the muggers
faster. Dublin has innumerable iconic images to stir the memory. The
historic GPO, sight of that famous stand in 1916; The Guinness brewery
at St James's Gate, source of all that is truly good in the world;
RTE, source of all that is truly bad in the world. A clever
aficionado of Dublin might opt for something more modern like the
recent Spire in O'Connell Street but that would be a little vulgar and
phallic for my tastes (I don't do salty). Personally I think you
should envisage a skinheaded bloke in a shabby green shellsuit with
yellow fingers called Anto trying to race the 49A bus to Tallaght on
his rabid piebald horse while simultaneously selling hash to a DCU
student in torn designer jeans and telling someone how to rob a BMW on
his stolen mobile.
Kildare
Kildare is a county that just oozes money. What with having
the National Stud and the globally famous Curragh Racecourse within
its boundaries, it just stinks of cash. And horseshit obviously. As
well as being populated by equine magnates married to women called
Sandra or Jasmine who lunch, Kildare also plays hosts to the wonderful
Japanese Gardens (sushi gardening is big in Ireland) and Maynooth
College, the place which trains people for the Irish priesthood, the
paramilitary wing of Catholicism. So, you could opt for a horse, a
bonsai tree or an enraged sexually frustrated cleric as your image
here. Despite all that though, you are probably better off thinking of
a cow fetishist in a red leather mini-skirt or perhaps a mud spattered
lillywhite jersey which has been knocked to the ground one too many
times.
Kilkenny
Whoever put Kilkenny in Leinster and left Tipperary in
Munster deserves some hiding and was probably responsible for Roy
Keane leaving Japan to boot. It's plainly obvious that Kilkenny boasts
all the traits that a proper Munster county requires, a strong GAA
tradition, good traditional music and delightful pubs galore. Perhaps
they thought by putting all that in Leinster, it might spread. I have
one word to say on that. Carlow. Anyone? Anyone? For Kilkenny a vision
of a black cat would be the obvious choice but the more subtle choice
would be a statue of the legendary, nay holy, D.J. Carey giving Kevin
Kinahan a good shafting in September 2000.
Laois
Laois is a sleepy little midland county where the crows once
ate a man and no-one noticed for two weeks. Laois is a bit like Paul
Gascoigne in that is once was a bit of a player but is now reduced to
parody and regret. It is another of the land-locked counties in
Ireland and that's how most people choose to spend their time there,
locked. In recent years it has played home to the National Ploughing
Championships so you could opt for an image of a hard-working farmer
cultivating mother earth. You'd be better off though envisaging the
size of the subsidy check he is getting from the EU to allow him to
purchace that new tractor which costs more than a small child.
Longford
Longford doesn't exist. It is just something we tell our
kids about like Hell, the Boogy Man and Fair Taxation. Imagine a Black
Hole for Longford.
Louth
- Louth is the smallest county in the country and nobody still
knows who to thank for that. It has some impressive scenery,
particularly around the Cooley Peninsula and is steeped in Irish
history. So perhaps a fitting image of Louth might be the monastic
remains at Monasterboice which date from the 5th century. However,
Louth also has things like Dundalk and Drogheda and sits snugly next
to the border with Northern Ireland so perhaps a more lasting image
might be of someone hiding a kalashnikov in his garden for a
'friend'.
Meath
Meath was once a province in its own right, the homeland of
kings and the birthplace of an Irish religious tradition which would
spread across the globe. A burning fire on the Hill of Tara might be
used to evoke the sheer weight of history in Meath. But not by us. No,
we are going to opt for the much more representative psychotic
murderer hell bent on assaulting everyone within 30 yards whether they
have the ball or not and whether they are on the opposing team or
not. Think of either of the Kray twins in a green jersey and you won't
be far wrong.
Offaly
Offaly is at the very heart of the country and boasts a proud
Irish tradition going back decades. While some might choose to evoke
Offaly with the trademark twin chimneys of the Blackwater power
station near Shannonbridge, the celtic cross of Clonmacnoise or the
historic giant telescope of the Earl of Rosse in Birr Castle, I
personally prefer to envisage Offaly as a Hannibal Lecter style figure
who ripped my poor Limerick heart out and ate it with some fava beans
and a nice chianti in September 1994.
Westmeath
Another of the lesser counties in Ireland, Westmeath has
struggled to assert itself amongst the more prominent counties in the
province. The tourist board would have you think of Westmeath as a
place to enjoy top class fishing, water sports and golf. But we
are not fooled and besides there is a half-chance we used the angler
already for Roscommon in a fit of pity. So for Westmeath the obvious
choice is of an Irish Bachelor off to the festival in
Mullingar. Picture if you will a man in a stained brown suit jacket
which he probably bought for his communion and just let tear out to
fit his prodigious bulk over the years. Inside he will be sporting the
traditional moth-eaten brown v-neck jumper beloved of trainspotters
and seminary students alike. Accompanying this chic apparel will be a
pair of sky blue nylon pants (�6.99 in Dunnes in 1974) held up by some
yellow baling twine and tucked into a fashionably weathered pair of
black wellington boots (but not a matched pair: one has a black sole
and one has a yellow sole and both are for the left foot). The piece
de resistance is a tattered tweed cap glued onto his head with
frytex. For double points you will picture him driving a 1985
Volkswagen Jetta the wrong way around a roundabout with Big Tom
blaring out of a cassete player he has nailed to the dashboard.
Wexford
Wexford is unique among Irish counties in that it is
rumoured that the sun shines there a fair bit. Probably nothing more
of that fanciful Irish whimsy perhaps, but we all must have our
dreams. In terms of images of this county one of the most striking in
Irish folklore is that of a rebel hand setting the heather blazing at
Boolavogue when Father John Murphy led his parishioners in routing the
Camolin Cavalry on May 26, 1798. The Wexford insurgents were
eventually defeated at Vinegar Hill on June 21 and Father Murphy and
the other rebel leaders were hanged. So for Wexford I am quite happy
to bow to convention and let our image be that of a hanging priest.
Wicklow
Wicklow is one of the few counties on the east coast with
something approaching consistent pleasant scenery. Picking an image
for Wicklow would seem easy as it plays hosts to one of the classic
Irish scenes which has been sent on postcards all over the world,
namely Glendalough. However, ours is not the easy route and anyway
Wicklow is home to a heritage much more important than anything St
Kevin could have dreamed up. For Wicklow we are to imagine a man
called Miley, a scraggy vision of a mountain man in a donkey jacket
who made it alright to use the word "shagging" in polite Irish
conversation.
Munster
-------
Clare
Clare is quite beautiful with some of the most amazing scenery
in Ireland. It is also steeped in the traditions of Irish music,
producing some of the finest trad musicians the country has seen. The
easy route here would be to take something like the Poulnabrone Dolmen
in the Burren, which is an iconic landmark. However, I scorn such
ease. I'd go for a balding fat man with a recently engine-grease-oiled
combover squeezed into an extra small Clare jersey doing the Banner
Roar at three in the morning to upset his neighbours across the bridge
in Killaloe.
Cork
The largest county on the Island has innumerable images
that can evoke it: The graceful Titanic as she sailed out from Cobh
on her maiden voyage, never to return; The blissfully unaware face of
the liberating hero Michael Collins as he drove along the road towards
his death at B�al na mBl�th; the wreckage of an Armada ship, swept
away in a storm and sinking with it the dreams of Irish
liberation. All these are of course very noble, but not close to the
true essence of Cork which is the Cute Hoor. I know a Cute Hoor may be
hard to visualise for someone who has never met one but try, if you
will, to imagine the expression on your plumbers face as you pay him
$500 for work he hasn't carried out, blissfully unaware that he has
been banging your wife all day instead.
Kerry
Kerry is one of the most popular tourist attractions in the
country so there are a number of potential ideas here, Kate Kearney's
Cottage, the windmill at Tralee, the Goat at Puck Fair etc. On the
same theme but with a bit of a more clever twist you could think of
the happy face of an American tourist as they pay �300 for a shite
jumper in Killarney that someone made with 70p worth of wool bought
from Aldi. However, anyone that knows anything about Kerry knows that
the true heart of the county is in the shape of a football. The ideal
image for Kerry is of a sweaty banbh-like face displaying the true
agony, known only to people like war survivors, victims of serious
crime and relations of Pat Kenny, when one Seamus Darby drove a stake
through his Sam Maguire-vampyric spherical centre in 1982.
Limerick
Limerick is the George Best of Munster. No, It doesn't have
dazzling flair or an amazing ability to please the masses, but it does
tend to fall off the wagon just when you think it is perhaps
recovering from being shite. Idealists would opt to represent Limerick
with the Treaty Stone, symbolising the peace and reconciliation which
can happen when two sides come together during conflict to resolve
their difficulties civilly. Cynics though would point out that today
in Limerick those two sides are just as likely to try and drop the
stone on your head. After shooting you a few times. The quick and
nasty fix here would be to think of a Stanley Knife but I am a more
spiritual person and I think an image of a broken heart bleeding all
over a green jersey is just about right.
Tipperary
Tipperary is to Munster what Israel is to the Middle East.
A cuckoo in the nest, it may have some of the best farming land in the
province, but that doesn't make up for horrific crimes like Babs
Keating and Roscrea. A novice, when thinking of Tipperary, would opt
for the world-renowned Rock of Cashel as their image here, but I think
a more innovative choice would be an empty seat at Semple Stadium
after yet another Tipp fan has left early (as in five minutes into the
game) rather than watch them get beaten again.
Waterford
Waterford is famous for its highly prized (and even
higher-priced) crystal. So you could take a nice decanter as your
visual. This though would miss the whole essence of Waterford which is
best summed up by the vision of a peroxide blonde in a swimsuit two
sizes too small to show off her homemade tattoos clattering the kids
around the beach in Tramore because they are too soft to go in
swimming. I mean, since when did a few used condoms, toilet paper,
half a dog, mangled copies of the Sun and ten inches of snow hurt
anyone?
Ulster
------
Antrim
One of the world's most mysterious and celebrated geological
features is to be found in Antrim. No, not Jordan's breasts, I am
talking of course about the Giant's Causeway which is a remnant of the
fiery volcanic past which no longer afflicts the place (except in
metaphor). Some say it is a lunar-like landscape but I'm guessing they
have never been to the moon and are just making it up (they may have
been to a warehouse in Utah though). So the logical choice for Antrim
would of course be the causeway except Antrim also contains the city
of Belfast, the capital of Northern Ireland which I think is twinned
with Beirut and Bagdhad. So for Antrim it's probably best to imagine
the graceful image of a petrol bomb sailing through the air. It may or
may not be lighting depending on which particular shaven-headed
tatooed splinter-faction gobshite is throwing it.
Armagh
The spiritual capital of Ireland for 1,500 years and the seat
of both Protestant and Catholic archbishops, Armagh is the most
venerated of Irish cities. Honestly. It also has a rich tradition
stretching back even further and Navan Fort was the stronghold of the
kings of Ulster from 700 BC. So for Armagh you might envisage the
mighty warrior Cuchulain defending the interests of King Conor mac
Nessa with little more than a hurley. Which is nice. But who cares
about nice. For Armagh the true image is of one mob of fanatics baying
at another mob of fanatics over who can and can't walk where and
how. Have some of them beating drums for sound effects if you like.
Cavan
Cavan contains the Cuilcagh Mountain which is the source of
the Shannon, the longest river in Ireland. The major mystery is that
the people of Cavan actually let a drop of their water leave the
county in the first place because they are renowned for being the
meanest people on the planet next to the people who put a maximum of 5
crisps into a family pack bag. Another Ulster county in the Republic,
Cavan's most famous son is the 'Clones Cyclone', Barry McGuigan, who
became the WBA Featherweight boxing champion in 1985. So a likely
image could be of his triumphant face after beating Eusebio Pedroza to
claim the crown. If you want to be as mean in spirit as a Cavan man is
in everything else though, you could instead imagine his dazed and
shattered face after losing the title to Steve Cruz in the oppressive
heat of Las Vegas in 1986. Go on, you know you want to.
Derry
Right, we are moving into dangerous territory here. We call
that territory "Northern Ireland" and it is the only known place in
the world where mispronouncing the letter 'h' may get you
killed. Derry contains a city called Derry which may or may not be
called Derry depending on how you pronounce the letter 'h', although
the letter 'h' does not appear in either of the alternative names.
With me so far? No? Well, neither is the rest of the planet to be
honest. Derry city is famous for its siege which is still going on
today. For Derry you could think of the ancient walls of the city, but
really for the true feel of the place think of the PLO scarf wearing
teenager scrawling 'DIE POLIZ PIGS' onto that wall. He could pronounce
'h' either way, he'll still be scrawling that.
Donegal
Donegal is one of the three Ulster counties in the Republic
and contains the most northern point of the island, Malin Head. While
it boasts some of the most magical scenery and ancient locations in
the country, Donegal will always be tarnished by the fact that it
spawned upon the world one of the greatest villians since Pol Pot,
Saddam Hussein and Bernard Manning. One we could have forgiven them
for and to be fair if you squinted a bit in a shadowy room, Margo
wasn't so bad, but in Daniel O'Donnell they unleashed upon an
unsuspecting planet a demon who would lead his blue-rinsed minions to
wreak aural devastation on unsuspecting lift travellers and shoppers
in Tesco's alike. So in punishment for Donegal we will not be imagining
the quintissential Irish whitewashed thatched cottage, nor miles of
undisturbed sandy beach nor indeed the ruins of Colmcille Monastry on
Tory Island. No, instead we will be imagining a giant penis in a
polyester white suit talking about its Mammy while serving tea to
Margaret Thatcher lookalikes.
Down
Everybody loves Down because whenever they play any sport you
get to say "Up Down!" or "Down Down!" depending on your
allegiances. Aren't adult pleasures great? Down contains the Mountains
of Mourne which have been sweeping down to the sea for generations now
and still few say where. I guess Newcastle doesn't make a good rhyme
or something. It also is the home of people who emigrate to London and
dig for gold in the street apparently. So perhaps these mountains
would make a nice representation for the county, but there is another
location which is probably more symbollic. Downpatrick is alledged to
be the place where St Partick, the man who introduced Christianity to
the Irish, died so I'd think of him popping his clogs for Down. One
cleric getting offed just wasn't enough in my list I felt.
Fermanagh
Fermanagh is another Irish county with a strong reputation
for the excellence of its fisheries and indeed Lough Erne has claimed
many world coarse angling match records, presumably including heaviest
body ever pulled from a lake. For Fermanagh you could think of the
geological treats and treasures of a whole underworld of caves,
waterfalls, passages and high roofed chambers in Marble Arch Caves. Or
if you are more cutting edge you could envisage a man in a balavlava
who enjoys blowing up pensioners of a Sunday.
Monaghan
Monaghan is again an Ulster county in the Republic and as
such gets all the benefits missing to its Northern neighbours such as
potholes, expensive healthcare and monopoly money. A striking county
with lots of little hills to be seen (presumably with a body under
each), Monaghan gave to Ireland possibly it's greatest rural poet,
Patrick Kavanagh. In 'Stoney Grey Soil of Monaghan', Kavanagh's
poignant portrayal of an awakening to the intellectual and social
barrenness of his previously content agricultural Monaghan existence
invokes the tensions of the ever-strained line between urban and rural
life in Ireland. Also, it has really good rhymes. When you think of
the most famous son of Monaghan though, alas Kavanagh is now in second
place. For our image we will not be evoking his wrinkled high-browed
visage, but rather the infinitely more vacant expressions of one
Father Dougal Maguire (aka Ardal O'Hanlon), priest, legend, spiderbaby
lover.
Tyrone
- With the Sperrin Mountains and Lough Neagh on its borders,
Tyrone has some wonderful scenery and amenities. The perfect desolate
and remote landscape to fish, hillwalk and bury armaments. Tyrone
comes from the Irish word T�r Eoghain meaning the territory of Eoghan,
a son of Niall of the Nine Hostages and indeed it is possible for
hostages to be taken there still today. For Tyrone you could think of
the vastness of Lough Neagh to inspire your memory, but a far better
image would be that of an army of 15 men in red and white jerseys
standing beside the piled body parts of the opposition with the Sam
Maguire cup sitting on top.